EVIDENCE


An attorney was defending a man charged by his wife with desertion.
For a time it looked as tho it were a cinch for the prosecution, but
at the psychological moment the attorney called the defendant to the
stand. "Take off that bandage," he cried, and the man did it, exposing
a black eye. "Your honor," said the attorney, "our defense is that
this man is not a deserter. He's a refugee."


The London police-sergeant raised his eyes from the blotter as two
policemen propelled the resisting victim before him.

"A German spy, sir!" gasped the first bobby.

"I'm an American, and can prove it," denied the victim.

"That's what he says, but here's the evidence," interrupted the second
bobby, triumphantly producing a bulky hotel-register from beneath his
arm, and pointing to an entry.

"V. Gates," written in a flowing hand, was the record that met the
astonished sergeant's gaze.


It happened in the court-room during the trial of a husky young man
who was charged with assault and battery. Throughout an especially
severe cross-examination the defendant stoutly maintained that he had
merely pushed the plaintiff "a little bit."